Resident Evil
by the0voice0from0above
Summary: For Castiel, taking out zombies and rescuing civvies is a breeze compared to dealing with his feelings for his captain, Dean. He's managed to keep them buried. But when he runs into Steve Rogers who is apparently suffering from a similar fate, he discovers that in a world of blood and gore, a little loving might not be a bad thing.


A.N: This is basically a Resident Evil rip off with a Destiel and Stucky romance thrown in. I don't know anything about military jargon. I know barely anything about Resident Evil. I don't know a whole lot about SHIELD. I wrote this for fun.

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><p>Through the scope Castiel watches Dean weave his way past corpses littered in every direction, all sporting bullet holes in the skull. Dean moves silently. He reaches the edge of the school yard and scales the fence. Castiel's grip on the anti-material rifle tightens, and he shifts minutely on the rough surface of the concrete, his heavy military issued jacket protecting his elbows from inevitable scrapes. His heart is pounding, irrationally, in a way it always does when Dean is physically out of his reach. Technically speaking, Dean is safer at a distance with Castiel watching his back through the circular lens of a sniper rifle than he would be standing beside him. Hand to hand combat is Dean's style. He's more inclined to get up close in personal—a polar opposite to Castiel's preference. He takes a breath, his lungs stretch to contain its depth, then exhales quietly.<p>

Dean's voice crackles in his ear as Castiel watches him jump down over the other side of the wire fencing. "Looks like we missed the party."

"There're forty to fifty BOWs at your feet," murmurs Castiel. "That doesn't sound like a party I want to go to."

Dean looks up and Castiel catches his grin between the red target lines. "Kill joy."

Castiel's mouth twitches. "Would you expect any less of me, Captain?"

Brinsley School sits at the bottom of a concrete valley. The surrounding city looks down on its colourful walls and spacious playground and camouflages the true horizon behind tall, clumsy buildings and narrow streets. It's like sitting in a fish bowl, and although Castiel is high up, perched on the roof of the canteen, he still feels too close to the ground. Fortunately, they don't have to stay here long; one package to collect and they're done. Why the chopper had to drop it in the middle of a BOW wasteland was beyond Castiel.

Along his path towards the package, Dean stops abruptly and crouches down, examining one of the bodies. "Weird," he says.

"What is it?"

Dean doesn't answer right away, and Castiel has to beat down the surge of impatience it causes him. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying Dean's name again.

With the tip of his 909, Dean nudges the head of a BOW. Its lifeless, bulging eyes stare directly at Castiel. Yellow tinged goo is slowly spilling from its mouth and dripping onto its neck which is creased, stretched and distorted as a result of the bio toxin.

Dean straightens. "These guys weren't greased with ordinary rounds."

"What can you see?"

The rest of the school yard is silent, eerily so. A plastic bag flaps in the wind, caught on the bent iron bars of the gate where a truck has ploughed into the centre of it.

"There's a blue tint around the entry wound," says Dean finally.

"Another virus?"

"Can't say for sure. Let's hope not." Dean continues towards their goal: a crate. It was dropped twenty minutes ago by a supposed ally to the BSAA; they call themselves SHIELD. They popped up on the map two years after version one of the 'T' virus ate its way through a third of the population of the USA, offering ammunition, weapons and other supplies, with no explanation as to who they were and what they wanted. Not only that, they had valuable information on the 'T' virus and the following mutations that devastated the military's first attempt at taking out the infected. With fresh knowledge and advanced weaponry, the BSAA was able to cauterise the otherwise lethal wound in the country's throat. Many people were saved and evacuated. It's all thanks to SHIELD and their apparently unlimited supply of weapons and ammunition that the USA is still a country and not just a smouldering ruin of skeletal bodies and pulsating flesh.

Personally, Castiel is sceptical of their loyalty, and so is Dean. As often as SHIELD has bailed America out, the fact remains that no one gives anything for free and Castiel is certain that one day SHIELD is going to ask for something in return. For now they'll use their supplies, their money and their information but Castiel and Dean don't consider themselves friends of SHIELD no matter how much the BSAA and the country owes them.

"Package is straight ahead, one hundred yards," Castiel murmurs unnecessarily. It isn't hard to spot with a red shoot still attached to the container and waving like a flag in the wind.

Dean has almost reached it when Castiel senses rather than sees movement to his left. He zeros in on a tall finger dressed in dark clothes. He or she is walking too easily to be a BOW and too calmly to be a civilian. Castiel's heart kicks up a gear.

"Possible Tango at your 10 o'clock, Captain," says Castiel like he would if he was commenting on the weather. His finger, which is resting on the trigger, twitches. "He's got a silver briefcase."

"Copy."

Dean's stance is sure, hand on his sidearm. He's much calmer than Castiel could ever be. Dean's eyes are on the figure. Like Castiel he watches the stranger draw near. Whoever it is has got their face covered with a scarf and a hood but the broadness and square nature of their figure suggests it's likely a man.

Castiel's eye snags on a green logo on the breast pocket of the stranger's coat. "LOKI. It's LOKI, Captain. I'm taking him down."

"Hold it!"

Castiel does—only just. He keeps the target centred on the bogey's head.

"Freeze," says Dean.

Castiel can't see his captain, but he knows Dean now has his 909 raised. The stranger stops and turns his back on Castiel. Dean walks into Castiel's circular field of vision and as predicted his 9mm is raised, head tilted in typical Dean fashion.

"Want to tell me who you are?"

The answering voice is quiet; Castiel has to stop breathing to hear it.

"No."

"What are you doing here?"

"Delivering a package."

"To who? What's in the case?"

"Something very special."

Castiel's gut is screaming at him to shoot. He doesn't though. An order from Dean overrides any impulse Castiel has.

"Drop it," demands Dean.

The stranger doesn't move.

Castiel's finger gently squeezes on the trigger. He's a hairline away from sending a bullet straight through the agent's. He doesn't shoot. Of course he doesn't shoot though he wants to.

"I said drop it!" yells Dean.

"As you wish," murmurs the stranger. The briefcase is thrown on the ground. It hits the floor, springs open and a creature bursts from the confines of the metal case and catapults at Dean. It's thin, slimy and wails like a tortured cat as it wraps its bony limbs around Dean's head, tiny jaws opening to reveal twin pincers dripping with saliva.

Castiel's initial reaction to the attack on Dean is molten fury. In a tenth of a second that anger disappears and a cold, unforgiving calm descends upon him. He takes aim. The first bullet blasts the BOW off his captain's face. The second blows a crater through its slimy torso as it wriggles on the ground in the last throes of death.

Castiel can hear Dean breathing heavily in his ear while he scans the grounds for the enemy who has escaped during the attack. "Are you okay, Captain?"

"Yeah," breathes Dean. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel spots the LOKI bastard kicking the door open to the school building and racing inside. "He's in the school."

"Copy."

Castiel jumps to his feet, slings his gun across his back and draws his MP-AF. He takes the stairs from the roof of the canteen three at a time, leaping the last five and twist kicks the door open into the kitchen. Taking a shortcut through the inside of the building he catches up to Dean on his way through the lobby.

Quickly and subtly, Castiel checks him over. Dean has a small scratch on his throat which is oozing blood, and there's a scorch mark across his forehead where the sniper round passed too close to his skin.

Dean's green eyes lock with Castiel's for a full second and even in through the rushing adrenaline Castiel still feels a squeeze around his heart.

"This way," says Dean.

They crash through another door into a cool, low lit stairwell. Splashes of blood turned brown with age, human pulp and strings of intestine glitter eerily in the diluted light. The smell is almost intolerable. It doesn't matter how many times Castiel smells the same rotting, virus ridden flesh, it still hits the back of his throat like a punch and churns his gut.

They have barely touched the bottom step when they hear the telltale sounds of thundering feet above their heads. In unison their gazes snap up in time to catch a glimpse of the enemy's long coat billowing behind him.

"Son of a bitch," growls Dean.

Together they fly up the stairs, leaping over the strewn legs of occasional corpses.

Castiel has to use his knife to take out a BOW before it can trip him up with its flailing arms. He prises his pant leg free from its grasp and buries the knife up to the hilt into its brain. There's a crunch of gristle. It's never smooth like in the movies. There's always something there, something to make the kill just that little bit harder to forget. Sometimes Castiel has nightmares that contain only sounds. Sounds of bones breaking, tendons snapping, teeth shattering, eyeballs popping. It's a mixed tape he can't destroy.

Castiel is seconds behind Dean who, on the third set of stairs, manages to catch the door before it swings shut behind the LOKI agent.

The dark stairwell is exchanged for a bright corridor and their target is running flat out towards the opposite end where the exit has been barricaded with chairs, desks and a broken notice board.

"We've got him now," says Castiel. The words are only just out of his mouth when the door to the classroom on his left blasts open, splinters of wood and chipped paint spray across Castiel's face. His gaze aligns with a pair of raging blue eyes and dark hair moments before he is thrown backwards by a solid kick to the chest. He hits the wall hard, head bouncing off brickwork, and doesn't react quickly enough to stop the barrel shoved in his face.

Luckily, Dean does. He steps in front of Castiel—professional and accurate—and knocks the weapon out of the attacker's hand with practiced ease.

It hits the floor. Castiel goes to grab it when boot appears from nowhere and kicks it out of the way.

Castiel snatches his Elephant Killer from its holster and straightens, pointing the magnum at yet another man he has never seen before, a blonde with soft blue eyes. This man, though armed, doesn't attempt to fight Castiel. Instead he holds up his hands. "Hold on."

Castiel doesn't have time to think about whether he should take him down or not, because the dark haired man is in his face again, wrenching the magnum out of his hands like it isn't just a threat but an insult too, like he's disgusted Castiel pointed the Elephant Killer at his partner. His face twists into a snarl and there's a strange mechanical noise, which sounds incredibly alien to Castiel, moments before his gloved fingers squeeze Castiel's oesophagus.

"Bucky stop!" yells his partner.

Castiel starts to see spots within seconds. The pressure is so great Castiel feels his head might fall off. Perhaps it will.

Dean doesn't allow it though. His thick forearm wedges under 'Bucky's' throat, and Dean presses a gun to his temple. "Back the fuck off. Now."

"Bucky, let him go," says the blonde.

The man, Bucky, growls but complies, slowly relaxing his iron grip. Castiel sags against the wall, coughing up what feels like his guts and dragging in deep, painful breaths.

Dean has backed up, his 909 trained on Bucky's face. Castiel can see in the set of his jaw and his blazing eyes that Dean is beyond furious.

He collects his Elephant Killer and MP-AF from the floor and mirrors Dean's stance. Now that they have room to breathe, Castiel can appreciate the sheer size of the two men standing before him. They're both dressed in fitted, padded uniforms—all black—and armed to the teeth with weapons. The man named Bucky is glaring at Dean. His arm is slightly raised like he wants to pull his partner back out of Dean's range. The other man is clearly wary but there's no hostility nor is there any indication that he is going to attack or attempt to flee. It's evident in the way they hold themselves that both men are experts in combat. Posture and stance flawless. Castiel has a small uncontrollable flicker of admiration.

"Who the fuck are you?" demands Dean.

"Can you lower your weapon?" says the blonde, hand up, palm out. Yes, he's trained well.

"I don't think so."

"Steve Rogers," says Steve Rogers. "My name is Steve Rogers. This is James Buchanan Barnes. We're agents of SHIELD; we don't mean you any harm."

"Uh huh. So trying to kill us was just, what, your way of saying 'hello'?" says Dean derisively. Castiel couldn't remember the last time he had seen Dean so angry.

"That was a mistake—"

"You were going to take down our target."

"Well, when someone tries to kill me that's what I do."

"You can't kill him."

"Says who?"

"SHIELD."

Dean snorts. "Last I checked SHIELD were a silent bank account dishing out dough and battle rattle. They don't get their hands dirty and they sure as hell don't have any say in who I kill or don't kill."

"Then you obviously haven't been keeping up on current events," says Bucky.

"There's a new virus," says Steve. "It's called the Indigo virus. Also known as In-V. As far as we know it mutates just like the T-virus. The only difference is it specifically finds hosts in corpses. It can rejuvenate dead cells almost completely."

"Awesome. That's a great advert for anti-aging cream, but why should I care?"

"About an hour ago it wiped out a safe zone thirteen miles west of here."

Automatically Castiel glances at Dean. The news must hit hard. Dean doesn't make any indication that it has though. Not even a twitch.

"Survivors?"

"There're some." Steve seems to pick up something in Dean's tone. He studies his face carefully. "The virus isn't airborne yet so the BSAA have managed to keep the contamination contained."

"Why do I sense a 'but' coming?"

"But it won't stay like that for long. The dead won't stay dead. It doesn't matter what you do—burn them, chop them up—nothing works. They just keep regenerating."

"You can stop anything with enough bullets."

"Not these," replies Steve. "Trust me"

"No thanks," says Dean. "If you were a hooker I wouldn't trust you to fuck me."

"What did you say?" Bucky starts towards Dean, but Castiel steps in front of him, jutting out his chin.

Bucky's blue eyes drop to Castiel then shift to Dean. "Maybe you should put that puppy on a leash."

"Maybe you should shut your mouth," retorts Dean.

"Enough," says Steve. "We haven't got time for this."

"No shit."

"Why exactly are you here?" asks Castiel.

"There is a cure for In-V. Unfortunately, you scared off the only person who has access to it," explains Steve.

"The LOKI agent? Are you kidding me?" says Dean. "Do you seriously think you can trust that guy? He tried to gank me with a BOW."

"It doesn't matter if you trust him or not, he's our only shot at a cure. We understand this is your AOR. We're not trying to step on any toes here. We just want the cure."

Dean's eyes are still on Steve's face but they aren't seeing him. He's on auto pilot while he deliberates and Castiel waits for his response. He's never had any problems with following Dean's orders. Whatever Dean believes to be right, Castiel will follow. Only once have they clashed in the past and shortly after that Dean apologised and admitted he was wrong. They trust each other and it's because of that trust that they're able to work so efficiently as a team. "We'll help you," says Dean finally.

"We don't need your help," says Bucky.

"Me and Cas have explored every corner of this town. If your guy is still in the vicinity you're going to need our help finding him. And Cas is the best sniper you're ever going to get. With him watching your back nothing'll touch you."

Castiel dips his head to hide his pink cheeks. After a moment he looks up and he's surprised to find Steve staring at him. Something changes in his eyes as he switches from Dean to Castiel and another flush of embarrassment creeps up Castiel's cheeks though he doesn't know why.

"We'll work together," agrees Steve.

Dean nods, holstering his handgun. "Let's move then."


End file.
